


Unexpected Hot Dwarves

by elizabetx



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizabetx/pseuds/elizabetx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of smutty oneshots involving the company of Thorin Oakenshield ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prisoner // Thorin

Prompt: Reader is an elven "spy" who gets caught by Thorin's hunting party. Thorin ends up falling in love.

You ran swiftly through the woods, cool, wet wind biting at your lungs and stinging you from the inside. You had ventured far from Mirkwood; far from your people and far from the protection of the elves. Why you had chosen to pass Laketown near the city of Dale, and more importantly, Erebor, you had no clue. Perhaps it was your sheer interest in the great lands of men and dwarves, or the fact that you were becoming tired of Thranduil's constant watch.

Once you had come of age, the elven King of the Woodland Realm never let you out of his sight. You were more precious to him than the greatest jewel in Middle Earth, which made him all the more protective. He would not allow you to go hunting in the woods anymore with Legolas, nor would he allow you to enjoy wine with your old friends like you had once done before. He would insist that you stayed in your chambers or stayed near to him. You were to be a lady, and the wife of a king one day. Every move you made before you married would cement your future, for the best or the worst, and Thranduil would not see that you ruined your life.

The way your muscles expanded and contracted with your stride relieved your stiff, aching legs, and the soft mush of damp dirt between your toes had felt wonderful. The wide open expanses of Middle Earth was where your heart belonged; where you could hear the whisper of the trees as you ran freely and smell the fresh aroma of newly rain- soaked terrain. Birds flew from tree to tree and water winded through streams, babbling over stones and moving through moss.

"Wait!"

You stopped, your back stiffening and breathing faltering.

A deep voice had erupted from the dense forest, stirring the few squirrels that had nested in the trees beside you. The sound had not come from far away, and the shifting winds whispered low notes of voices through the branches of the trees. A sudden pang wrenched in your side from your rugged breathing, and a cold wave of fear rushed through your bones. You had realized that you could run no further, lest you would be found.

"There's something running through the woods my king! Maybe a deer perhaps!"

No, you were no deer.

"I heard it too, Thorin. Should we look just beyond this clearing?"

No, no, no. Your mind begged you to run, but you could not will your legs to move. Neither would the biting pang in your side allow you to take another step. What if they were dwarves? They would kill you.

"Aye," Came the answer, deep and commanding, rough and rich in tone.

If you could just move- why of all times did your legs betray you? Aulë was not on your side.

A man- no, a dwarf- emerged from the scrub, his clothes tattered and dirtied from what you could determine was a day of hunting, his eyes bright with the excitement of finding a treasure. But you were not a treasure to be beheld, just a trespasser. All cheer drained from his eyes when he spotted you, and his brows knitted.

"Spy!"

Spy? Aulë have mercy. You should not have disobeyed Thranduil.

The stitch in your side impaired your breathing as you gaped at the man, "No, no-"

"Be quiet, elf," he spat, pushing his axe into your face. He didn't lift his steely gaze from your frame, nor make a movement, save to call for his hunting mates. "Thorin!"

Another man emerged from behind the trees, with bright blue eyes and hair as dark as midnight. His sword had been taken from its sheath, and he wore a frown across his handsome features. He too, appeared rough with a few smudges of dirt across his face.

"My king, it seems Thranduil keeps watch over even the forests."

With his words, one more man had found his way through the wood, drawing another axe in your face.

The king they called Thorin lifted his gaze, meeting your eyes with icy ones. You silently prayed that he might be different than the other dwarves that had shoved their axes at you, but you knew that he would be no different. Dwarves hated elves. If they found one wandering about in their woods, they certainly wouldn't treat them as if they had met a friend. His eyes made you uncomfortable, as if they had determined your fate in one cool glance.

He turned, glancing over his shoulder at the other dwarf, before returning his gaze to you.

"Bring her to my quarters. Our prisoner will speak."

The walk back to Erebor was not a long one. The forests were not far from the Kingdom Under the Mountain, and it had taken just under a few minutes to reach the front gates. It had been full of harsh silence and heated glances, and the king had rode ahead before the rest of you had embarked. His reason was to brood you supposed; the few moments you had seen him, it was not hard to pick up on his stoic personality. You were ordered to talk to no one, and none would speak to you. They were to only to usher you to the great hall in which Thorin resided.

What would Thranduil and your people think, if they had known you were in this position?

"Alright elf-girl, go on." The one who'd first found you now pushed you toward two oak double-doors. He quickly threw the doors open, shoving you inside so as not to stall; he enjoyed your company as much as you did his, which was not at all. He lifted an eyebrow at you, before he averted his gaze. "Thorin, I've brought you the prisoner!"

The King made no effort to give an answer, but only to wave his hand and dismiss the red-haired dwarf that had brought you in. He kept his back to the double doors as the other exited, seeming to take interest in the fire burning in the fireplace in front of him, the flames licking at the logs, crackling and spitting embers out into the air.

The silence was thick, but you were too afraid to speak, fearing that your punishment would only be worse than just that of being found in their territory.

"I find myself wondering why exactly your people are so concerned with the goings on in our forests," He mused, clasping his hands behind his back. "Actually, I wonder why at all you would care about what happens in Erebor."

He glanced backward over his shoulder before furrowing his eyebrows.

"We are not- at least I have not been-" You began, but he turned and cut you off, his piercing blue eyes cutting into yours. There was something about the way he looked at you that made your voice catch in the back of your throat.

"Why don't you take a seat?" He frowned, motioning towards a chair not far from where he was standing.

You moved slowly across the room before sinking into the chair beside the fireplace. You could see his cold features had softened significantly since he'd returned, and there was a thoughtful look washed across his face. He turned to you suddenly, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

"I find it strange a princess would be sent into my lands."

"H-How?" You stammered, your eyes wide. How did he know who you were? So much time had been spent on your protection that you had never spent much time outside of Mirkwood. It was common knowledge that there was a princess of the Woodland Realm, but what you looked like wasn't widely known.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as he took a step closer.

"Don't think I haven't got spies of my own. So why don't you tell me why you've found yourself here, princess."

Overwhelmed by his closeness, your voice again caught in the back of your throat. He was much more handsome than you'd noticed before, but you quickly tried to shoo the thoughts from your mind. How did he expect you to tell him anything, if he were standing so near? On top of that, you were still shocked at how he seemed to know everything about you, even though you had not given him any information.

"You will not give me an answer?" Even closer now, you could see the flecks of dark blue scattered around his irises.

No, certainly not now could you answer anything- And just like that, your thoughts were silenced.

His lips crashed down upon yours, hungry and desperate for the touch of skin upon his. He was warm, and his hands skimmed your waistline, sending shivers down your spine. For just a moment, you forgot that you were a prisoner in a foreign land away from Mirkwood as the roughness of his hands fanned lightly over your curves.

"Will you speak for me now?" He purred, his breath fanning over your neck.

Your only answer was a small moan that emitted from your lips as he began to press kisses down your neck, his beard scratching your skin. It was a strangely nice sensation- you had never before kissed a man that had facial hair- and you could feel the heat building between your legs.

Before you could catch yourself, your hands had curled up to peel the jacket from his frame, which he discarded quickly on a nearby chair. His tongue traced your bottom lip, begging for entrance, to which you eagerly obliged, while his hands quickly went to the lacings of your tunic. His touch was so warm, so much warmer than you were used to, that you leaned into his caresses, causing a low rumble to elicit from his chest.

You suddenly realized that he had swiftly gotten rid of the fabric separating your skin from his, and a blush spread across your features. You could feel the roughness of his shirt brushing against your breasts, and you could feel the sensitive peaks begin to harden. He wasted no moment to remove his lips from yours, and to relish your bare chest with an approving look, before returning to your neck, trailing his kisses lower and lower.

"Thorin-" you heaved as your breath hitched in your throat. His mouth now closed around one of your pebbled nipples, his tongue moving in circular motions as his beard scratched against your skin.

"My dear, you've got to talk more." He rumbled against your chest, as one hand moved to brush against the waistline of your trousers. The other ran lightly down your back, causing you to arch against him in pleasure.

Already, your mouth was threatening to spill a string of curses and moans, but as your mind moved out of its fog, you realized that he was still fully clothed. Your palms deftly went to his strong shoulders, pushing him off of your thin frame, your fingers beginning to work at the bottom of his shirt. As it rose up over his body, you could feel the tenseness of his muscles and his delicious definition. You couldn't help but to gawk at his toned chest.

"Like the view?" He chuckled, lowering himself and capturing your lips once again.

Frustrated that he'd stopped you, you moved to run a finger around the waistband of his pants, earning a low sound from the back of his throat. He grinded into you, and you could feel the heat of his already growing erection. You moved to undo the laces, but his grip on your wrist stopped you before you could go any further.

"Remember, you're my prisoner." He mumbled against your mouth.

In one swift movement, he'd looped his fingers on each side of your hips, and had thrown your trousers alongside the rest of the clothes. The rough pads of his calloused fingers moved in circles against the inside of your thighs, and you felt the heat in your core begin to rise again.

"Do you always fuck your prisoners?" You grinned down slyly at him through your eyelashes, and he returned your smile with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"None of them have looked like you."

His fingers moved closer and closer to the inside of your thighs, and your mind silently begged that he would stop his torturous circulations. Your fingers curled in his thick hair as if to encourage him and he took the hint, brushing his fingers against your folds. His touch was almost as frustrating as before, as his fingers softly moved against you.

"Aulë," you moaned at his touch. He was slow at first, moving his fingers in torturous circles and kissing your inner thigh softly, causing you to ache with need.

Moments passed before he pushed a thick digit into you, his other finger working softly at your clit. Another string of moans erupted from your throat, and he seemed pleased with the noises you were making, moving faster against you and raising himself to place soft kisses against your breast. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and heat pooled and built up around his fingers as you felt your release nearing.

Thorin sensed that you were about to spill over the edge, and suddenly, there was an absence where his fingers once were.

"Not yet," he growled, bringing his hands to the laces you had once before attempted to untie. When his erection was finally freed, you couldn't help but to blush at the sight of it. He was not unbearably large, but was thick, and your heart rate quickened at the thought of him inside of you. You all but forced yourself upon him when he was fully unclothed.

His hands tangled in your hair, rough lips parting and brushing up against yours, his pants heavier with the anticipation that built in both of your stomachs. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise and heat pool once again in your stomach as his length brushed against you, sending a shock wave of white heat down your body. If he had not pressed his fingers inside of you earlier, you could have lasted longer, but you felt the sudden urge that you needed him in you, now.

"Please," you groaned as your fingers raked over his chiseled planes, your hand reaching down to brush up against his growing member. Your touch caused him to buck into your hand, and a curse erupted from his mouth.

"Mahal, do you know what you're doing to me?" He bit into your neck. You were sure he hadn't planned to let you get what you wanted so easily, but he yielded to you, positioning himself over you, his hands guiding your hips flush with his. The presence of his heat drove you wild, and your back arched, prolonging his touch. He didn't move, but waited, savoring the look of desire you sent him, eyes burning with want.

Your hand traveled downward again, brushing against his shaft and guiding him into you. As he slid in, the width and length of him felt delicious against you even though you had not been used to someone of his size, and a low pang of heat shot through you.

Thorin gritted his teeth, his glacier blue eyes boring into yours again.

"You're so tight," he hissed, sliding into you further. His action caused your body to rack with pain and pleasure, setting you on fire. A soft mewl escaped from his throat and he leaned against you, lips pressing to yours, pausing for a moment to let you adjust to his size.

The way he lazily leaned into you drove you mad, causing your toes to curl and your fingers to grip at the sheets. Even though his stillness made your insides turn, you needed him to move. And move now.

A small whine escaped you as your fingernails dug into his back and you wrapped your legs around his hips, pressing your lower abdomen to his. The muscles in his lower torso coiled against you, and a low moan erupted from his throat. Slowly, he began moving against you, sending rolling waves of pleasure through your body. The feeling had you clinging to his body as if you could never let go, and you attached your lips to his throat, kissing him as his movements became steadier and faster.

Both of your breathing became ragged as his motions took you higher and higher, the feeling of your skin brushing up against his setting your nerves on edge. His thrusts became deeper until he bottomed out, reaching the sweet spot inside of you that had you seeing stars.

"Touch yourself," he growled, and your eyes widened at his sudden outburst. Your hesitated and your hips faltered against his rhythm, causing him to move painfully slowly against you. "Mahal, you heard me."

You followed his instruction, your hand trailing down his chest and meeting your clit, rubbing in slow ministrations that set your body ablaze again. The motion caused your fingers to brush up against his length as he moved in and out of you, and his breath hitched in his throat as he pounded against you harder.

The both of you had almost reached your breaking point, and you could feel the familiar heat rising in your stomach as your muscles began to tense.

"Thorin," you purred as you began to clench around him, release finding you. The feeling overwhelmed you and your eyes rolled back, your head leaning backward as he ground into you one last time before he reached his own climax, and his lips once again returned to lazily kissing your throat as he slowed.

"Will you tell me now, why you are here so I can have a reasonable reason to keep you?" He sighed into your neck when he'd stilled.

"Keep me?" You asked, and your fingers once again found the rough planes of his chest.

"Yes," he propped himself up on his elbow, grinning at you lazily, "I don't think I'm done with you just yet."


	2. Darkness, Part I // Legolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young woman has been under the care of an innkeeper and his wife in Fangorn for many years. Amidst her dreams of adventure and memories of her past, a curious stranger shows up one night.

Rain pattered over the soft earth, bending blades of grass and darkening every part of the soil it touched. The clouds swiftly rolled across the sky like waves crashing steadily against a shoreline in the middle of a summer storm. A soft breeze danced with the rich green leaves of the old oaks and pine needles alike. And there Allison stood, her dark hair puddled around her shoulders, and her brilliant bright eyes peering out into the summer rain. The small inn was shelter enough to keep her safe from the weather.

She often sat at that window, perched on a borrowed stool, with her chin rested in her palms and her elbows placed firmly against the window frame. There was something about the unknown beyond her line of sight that intrigued her. Somewhere, there would be a wolf and his pack hunting amongst the roots and ferns and bushes on the floor of the forest. Somewhere else, perhaps an adventurer, traveling to far and distant lands in search of something or someone. She liked to imagine that she was an adventurer herself, adventuring for the sake of doing so. Just to see what was beyond the old inn. But it did not matter what she wanted to see or where she wanted to go; it would always be dangerous for the ranger's daughter in the woods.

"Allison, can you wash the tables?"

She was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of Mrs. Wynemouth's sugary drawl. She spoke slow with calculation and an extra teaspoon of vanilla. Mrs. Wynemouth was a portly woman of fifty-and-eight, and was the innkeeper's wife. She often made up for Mr. Wynemouth's sour and stoic mood.

"Please try to finish up before Grenn returns, dear. You know how he is when he thinks we're falling behind on our chores."

Allison knew _exactly_ what he would do if she didn't have the tables and rooms cleared before nightfall. He would threaten to turn her out, slack on the amount of dinner he allowed her to have for the evening, and perhaps he would even send her into the woods by herself to gather firewood for the hearth. Out of all of the things he was unkind about, sending her into the woods alone was the worst. Everyone knew what kind of dangers lurked in those woods when night fell, but only the innkeeper and his wife knew that if Allison were to go into those woods, she would be in grave danger.

It shouldn't be more dangerous for her than anyone else to travel into the darkness, but her circumstances made it so. It started long ago, when her father had decided to leave the guarded walls of Rohan to seek out the dark force gathering in the east. He had a wife and a young daughter barely eight years old. Her mother pleaded with him to wait until orders were given from Minas Tirith, but he would not listen to her. He wouldn't listen to his daughter's cries, either. He yearned to see his family safe and to return to them with victory on his hands. He had a strong desire for adventure; the same kind that was budding in his little daughter.

He saddled his horse and donned his sword and helm, and rode into the woods on a cloudless night. Little Allison and her mother heard nothing from his venture for two weeks. It was quiet in Rohan, and life went as smoothly and normally as it always had, except for the fact that the ranger was not there. But after those two weeks of stillness was when the orc packs began surfacing on the outcroppings of town. Each day, riders would fly out of the gates on their battle-armed horses, and even fewer would return.

And then there was a hostage, brought to see the king. He confessed to seeing the ranger in his travels and spoke about a dark magic. Dark forces were gathering far and wide, and soon the war would be upon Middle Earth like a rain of fire. The one- _**he**_ \- walked in the shadows, regaining his strength and building an army to destroy all. The ranger had brought the truth into the light, and for that truth, he owed his firstborn.

Her mother fled Rohan once she had learned of this news.

She wound her way through the grasslands and up into the treacherous woods of Fangorn, where she could only hope to hide her daughter from the sight of those who wished to harm her. And there, in the midst of the tall trees and the silence, the woman had found the Golden Eyre, an old inn with an equally aged couple, hidden in the depths of the forest. Mr. and Mrs. Wynemouth promised the woman to keep her daughter safe from harm's way until she returned. But she had not returned for twelve years.

"I'm glad to see that you're cleaning up early today." The heavy wooden doors entering the inn slammed abruptly, and Allison could hear the scuff of Mr. Wynemouth's dirty boots across the floor. "It might give me some time to teach you to finally be able to wait on tables tonight. After Ben left it's not the same around here. The work is putting a strain on the Mrs."

Ben was a common boy of eight and ten, who'd come with nothing but the tunic on his back. He wouldn't let on where he was from, but he offered to help out around the inn as long as he received food and drink and a place to sleep. Mr. Wynemouth had obliged, but the boy left as swiftly as he'd shown up.

"O-of course." Allison wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried into the kitchen to return the bucket of water to its usual place.

* * *

He came from far away, with long strides and a bow upon his back. His eyes were the color of clear, frozen water and his hair like golden honey. He brought news of evil on the outside of Fangorn, searching for innocents to prey upon and kill in the night. There was a pack he was looking for, who'd been instructed to kill a king who claimed a mountain leagues away. Where they had gone, he did not know. He'd lost them when a rain had forced him from the grasslands under the canopy of the old trees.

Allison watched him with cool, calculating eyes.

He'd been sitting in the corner of the inn for half an hour after he'd told Mr. Wynemouth his tales. Mr. Wynemouth had told her not to wait on him until he told her so, because the man was deep in thought and didn't want to be disturbed. A thin frown blossomed across his face, and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. She could only wonder what he was thinking about, and what had driven him to run after a pack of orcs alone.

"Why don't you take some tea, Allison? You look tired and tonight is slow." Mrs. Wynemouth patted Allison on the shoulder and pushed a bar seat in her direction. She took it gratefully and rested her elbows on the bar. Mrs. Wynemouth had spiced the tea just as she liked, and added a little milk to it. Allison was glad that there were so few people at the inn because she would be able to catch up on her rest, and maybe even get to read some of the old books she'd found lying around in one of the rooms. If there was one thing that Allison enjoyed, it was reading about someone somewhere else in a far and distant land.

She turned her eyes the blonde-haired stranger again, and wondered where he came from. He was quite tall, so that ruled out the idea that he could have been a dwarf or a hobbit. He was not a man because the planes of his face were too perfect, and he was more thin than muscular. _An elf?_ She pursed her lips together in thought. There was hardly ever an elf that came to the inn, and more oft than not, they refused to spend a night under their roof when they did pass by. Usually when they did visit, there was some pressing matter they had to attend to elsewhere. She supposed his orc hunt was his pressing matter.

He turned to meet her eyes with his own, and Allison felt herself shrink under his gaze. There was something about the way he looked, as if he were interested in something about her, however interesting a common girl could be. His icy blue eyes hovered over her frame for a moment before she realized that she should probably do her job and see if he needed to be waited on. She forced herself to move from her spot at the bar, and gave Mrs. Wynemouth her half-finished cup of tea.

When she reached his table, he had already returned his gaze to his hands, and his mouth had again curved downward into a frown. "Can I get anything for you?"

"Some bread and wine." He did not look up from the table when he spoke to her, but she nodded at him anyway. Closer up, she noticed that he looked to be part of some family with wealth. His clothes were finely made, and the handles of the knives on his back were expertly crafted. She paused, pondering him for a moment more before he looked up at her again. An electric charge went through her and she spun on her heels in the direction of the kitchen. _What was she doing, just looking at him like that? She wasn't the sort to gawk at strangers like some stupid girl._ Her cheeks turned a pale shade of pink.

Mrs. Wynemouth's voice met the air when Allison reached the kitchen. "Are you okay Allison? You look quite flushed. Would you like to step out for a bit of air?"

"No, no. I'm perfectly okay. I just need some bread and wine for the man in the corner." As much as she would have liked to retire outside before having to serve the elf, she wouldn't dare step foot out there. She would have to face her embarrassment one way or the other, and it was best if she got it over with as quickly as possible.

She found her way to the cupboard before pulling out a glass and filling it with some red wine that Mr. Wynemouth had returned with earlier, and waited on Mrs. Wynemouth patiently to cut off a piece of bread. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, and took a moment to pull herself together.

When she returned to his table, she expected to give him his bread and wine and retreat successfully back to the bar. Maybe he would give her another look, but that time it would be one she wouldn't like because she would see that he thought her a stupid, silly servant girl. But he didn't. When she returned to his table, he took the cup and plate from her, and looked directly into her eyes.

"Sit with me."

She looked at him curiously, almost taken aback. "Sir, I've got to-"

"Legolas. My name is Legolas. Now please, sit with me."


End file.
